


Hot 'n Sweaty

by youreyestheyglow



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Clothed Sex, Frottage, Kinda, M/M, Pool Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:39:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreyestheyglow/pseuds/youreyestheyglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hot as fuck and Jean and Marco go swimming</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot 'n Sweaty

I’m gonna _die_.

I am seriously about to die.

The sweat is dripping down my fucking face.

Niagara Falls is happening somewhere around my neck.

 _Gross_.

I flatly refuse to subject my boyfriend to this.

I glance over at him.

He’s staring determinedly at the fan.

Trying to make it blow harder, I guess.

“Dude.”

He turns to me.

It’s too hot for fast.

“I have a pool.”

“Yeah?”

“I have. A _pool_.”

“ _Yeah_.”

“We could go swimming in it.”

“If I’d brought swimming trunks.”

My jaw drops.

“You didn’t bring your bathingsuit?”

“No.”

“You can wear one of mine.”

“You’re smaller than I am.”

“We’re not sitting in here anymore.”

“Jean.”

“ _I’m_ not sitting in here anymore.”

“ _Jean_.”

“ _We don’t have to live like this, Marco_.”

“ _I am big, you are not._ ”

“ _We can do better than this._ ”

“ _Size matters_.”

“ _Size does not matter_.”

“ _Jean_.”

I don’t know when we started whispering.

Maybe it’s cause breath is hot.

Whispering, I don’t know, minimizes that?

I guess.

It’s good enough for me.

If he’s whispering I totally can’t hear him and it’s swim time.

“Bathingsuits stretch.”

He glares at me as I stand up.

“They’re made out of stretchy stuff.”

There’s a gross sweat mark where I was sitting.

“You’ll fit.”

He just rolls his head backwards so he can watch me disappear up the stairs.

I dig out two bathingsuits.

One of them is a little bigger, I think.

I hope.

I throw it at his face.

It just sits there.

“ _Jean_.”

“Marco.”

“ _What the fuck is on my face._ ”

“Your new bathingsuit.”

“Jean.”

“Marco.”

“This is not mine.”

“So?”

“It’s also not new.”

“Your point?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I’ll throw you in in your underwear.”

 _“Jean_.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Dammit.”

“Go change.”

He drags the neon orange-and-green masterpiece of a bathingsuit off his face.

“The colors bring out your freckles.”

“You suck.”

“Ass.”

“ _You’re_ the ass.”

“I was adding on.”

“What?”

“You suck, ass.”

“What?”

“You said I suck but you didn’t specify what.”

“What?”

“I suck ass.”

“ _Jean_.”

I wink at him. “Yeah, baby, I know you like my name, moaned it a _lot_ last – week.”

He snorts.

It’s been too hot the past week or so to do anything.

I’m all for getting hot and sweaty under the blankets, but _jesus_.

I change in the living room and hope to god no one’s looking.

Marco’s not even _surprised_ to see I’ve changed in the living room.

He doesn’t give a shit about modesty anymore.

How kind of him.

Maybe it’s cause he’s absolutely pissed about the bathingsuit.

I think those are carrots and four-leaf-clovers.

“Gonna get lucky today, huh?”

He just gives me a _look_.

I make like a baby and head out the door.

The back door, though, not the front door like a normal baby.

Marco makes like an abnormal baby and follows me out the back door.

There’s a chance he’s just plotting my demise, though.

The water is pee-warm. It’s a little gross, not gonna lie.

Still, after three underwater minutes of having our gross sweat whisked away by chlorinated piss, Marco’s stopped looking at me like he’s going to slaughter me. It’s nice.

He drifts over to me.

Not so nice.

Well, yeah, I mean, seeing his freckly, muscly, warm body moving towards me is pretty nice. But I mean. The whole bathingsuit thing. Is kinda. Ruining it. Which, I guess, is kinda my fault. But still.

“It’s a little gross in here, Jean.”

“Yea-p.”

He’s still gliding towards me. Floating towards me? I can’t tell. It’s that weird weightless thing people do when they move in water. That’s what he’s doing. And I’m not gonna lie, if I concentrate on his dark, hooded eyes, it’s really, really, _really_ easy to forget about the bathingsuit.

“Could probably ignore it, though.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“If I had. A distraction.”

His voice drops all low and throaty and he _knows_ that makes me laugh he _knows it does_ so he’s not allowed to be surprised when I double over laughing and nearly inhale half the pool as I haul in air.

He’s laughing too, his pretty face turned towards his shoulder as his body shakes, and he did it on _purpose_ , just to make me laugh, the dumbass. The cutie. I slide my hand around his neck and pull him towards me, awkwardly catching the corner of his mouth but missing most of it.

He turns, though, and he gets my mouth, he gets his soft, chlorine-y lips on mine and I don’t even fucking care that chlorine tastes like chlorine, it’s not _inside_ his mouth, it’s just on his lips, and since I’m running my tongue over the back of his teeth it doesn’t actually matter. He’s wrapping his arm around my back, tugging me up against him, and I can feel his dick, hard as hell inside his bathingsuit.

Not looking. I am _not_ looking at the monstrosity covering his lower half. I’ll just – roll my hips up against him.

That’s a _really_ good idea.

Of course, now he’s gasping into my mouth, and I can’t even taste chlorine anymore I think I licked it off or something, and he’s got one hand in the curve in my lower back, holding me against him as I thread my fingers into his hair and tug him closer to me. I can smell him, I can smell him through the chlorine, he’s been sweating too much for me to _not_ be able to smell him, and he smells _good_. My eyes flicker open for a moment and his are closed, and there’s a little freckle at the corner of his left eye, one I only see with his eyes closed, and it’s fucking adorable.

Then I shut my eyes and _everything_ gets sharper, up to and including the hard length rubbing up against mine, and _christ_ I wanna pull it out but 1) that would mean looking down at his bathingsuit and 2) chlorinated water is probably the worst possible lubricant in the world, so I grind my hips into his and sigh a little when his hand moves down to my ass.

He slides his hand down to my thigh and pulls my leg up around his waist, and then he’s moving, moving towards the wall of the pool, bracing me against the warm white stone that edges the pool and rolling his hips firmly against mine, smiling a little as my head tips back.

“If my mom comes home –”

“I’ll hear the car before she sees us,” he reassures me, fingers trailing up my ribs.

I decide that’s good enough, and push against him, running my hand through the shorter part of his undercut. He shudders and bites his lip, and then he’s _not_ biting his lip cause _I’m_ biting his lip and he’s grinding against me again, doing that thing where he circles my hipbones, and _fuck that feels good_ I release his lip and mouth at his neck and he moans, quietly, stifling it in his shoulder, and that’s fine, it gives me more of his neck to work with. He’s getting twitchy now, and every stuttering movement, every break in his rhythm, is like him saying _hey Jean you’re hot as hell and even in this heat and this bathingsuit you’re still enough to get me off_ and that’s fucking beautiful is what that is and he’s still rubbing my hipbones and it’s _enough_.

“Marco, _Marco_ –” I whisper against his neck, and his chin is nudging my hair, and his lips are at my ear, and he’s gasping my name and my legs are cramping up but if I change position I might lose the _perfect_ hard friction of him up against me, rubbing, twitching, _shit_ I press my forehead against his shoulder so hard I’m gonna leave a me-shaped bruise as my body convulses, squeezing around him, every single grind sending another jolt through my body, the world blinking white for a minute until _I’m_ holding _him_ as he moans into my hair, hands squeezing my hips, twitching into stillness against me.

“I think we need a shower,” I suggest a couple minutes later, face still pressed against his shoulder where I can smell him.

“It’ll probably be colder than this, anyway,” he mutters, face still muffled in my hair where he’s presumably getting a mouthful of what is essentially hay.

He lets go of me slowly, like he’s a little worried. I pull him down for a kiss, and he tastes like chlorine again – he _definitely_ got a good mouthful of my hair. Whoops. Oh well.

“Shower together?”

“Shower together,” he agrees, sliding his hand into mine as we rise, dripping, out of the pool, like orange-and-green semen-covered Venuses.


End file.
